


Deconstructing Gods

by lawfulgayheel



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: 1999, 2000, BDSM, Belligerent Sexual Tension, Blood Kink, Brainwashing, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Feelings Realization, Flashbacks, Kayfabe Compliant, M/M, Memory Loss, Occult, On-Again/Off-Again Relationship, Temperature Play, Transformation, and now for the (gasp) sex tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-01
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2020-07-26 02:24:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20036350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lawfulgayheel/pseuds/lawfulgayheel
Summary: A relationship intended to be nothing more than casual sex turns into a religious experience.  With fate seeing fit to repeatedly bring them together, the Undertaker and Shawn Michaels are forced to question how far their affair has gone, and how much farther they're willing to go.





	1. After Midnight

**Author's Note:**

> During the Ministry's run, the announcers briefly mentioned a rumor that HBK could be the ~higher power~ and I just went hog wild. 
> 
> Important note: this is written to have the sex scenes be optional solely to keep it from being totally NSFH (not safe for Hope), so there is a touch of redundancy here and there. That being said, please keep comments tame, as we do share an inbox!
> 
> Also, I would be remiss to not credit salamandelbrot's "Cold as the Grave" for what sparked my focus on body temperature, as well as, uh, whoever the hell WWE hired to write Journey Into Darkness, for the brainwashing plot point. (Personally, I take a lot of Journey Into Darkness with a grain of salt, but I do very much like their portrayal of Paul's character and his relationship w/the brothers) (also young Undertaker's manic vibes got me going "argh," as someone with BPD) (I'm sure it was meant to be read more as ADHD, but *trips and projects my personality disorder* haha oh no!)  
Oh, and I snagged the title from a Blaqk Audio song. I love to be gay and sad. 
> 
> Thanks in advance for reading~

From the moment Shawn heard the banging on his door, he knew his night was going to take a peculiar turn. It wasn’t like there was a shortage of people to show up and angrily hammer at his door, all hours of the day. Hell, he was surprised he _didn’t _have more people coming directly to his house to tell him off. This time was different. There was a chill in the air he couldn’t place that felt off.

Squinting through the peephole, he couldn’t get much of a look at the late-night visitor, but leaning closer, he heard heavy breathing. Definitely normal. Absolutely not terrifying.

“Uh, we don’t want any!” He yelled, heading for the phone with cops in mind.

_ _“Open the door, Michaels.”_ _

Shawn dropped the phone.

What reason could the Undertaker have to turn up on his doorstep? Shawn tilted his head quizzically, eyeing the door, not moving to obey yet. He couldn’t think of anything in terribly recent memory that he did that would drive the phenom into a revenge-thirsty tirade. The last time he saw the Undertaker, Shawn had been refereeing an inconsequential match that hadn’t gone his way, but showing up at his door was an extreme response. A very delayed one, at that.

Of late, the Undertaker had gone down a path darker than usual. Shawn kept an eye on everything going on in the WWF as commissioner, of course, what else was he good for with an injury? Not that he was bitter. Anyone keeping up, especially as close as he was, would be disturbed, to say the least, at the psychologically destructive rampage the Ministry of Darkness was unleashing.

That is to say, Shawn was scared when he didn’t know who was breathing heavily at his door, and finding out their identity didn’t quell that unease.

His curiosity trumped his fear. Leaving the chain on, he gingerly unlocked the door, which flew open, narrowly avoiding connecting with his skull. One large, gloved hand grabbed onto the chain, but not to undo it. The way Taker was leaning so heavily against the door, it looked like he was using the chain to hold himself up. He was in a visibly weakened state. Shawn had a marginally better chance of holding his own if things got nasty. The Undertaker didn’t have any backup with him, but one could never be too careful with him. He was a force of nature on his own, and a wounded animal was a dangerous animal.

“Open the door,” he repeated, voice winded and pained. “Please.”

That “please” struck a chord.

Peering into the semi-dark, Shawn tried to get a read on Taker’s expression. He expected rage, with how aggressively Taker was behaving. There was none. His eyes were glassy as they imploringly bored into Shawn.

Shawn had never seen that expression on the Undertaker’s face before, but he knew it well. It was the look of withdrawal. A feeling akin to sympathy twanged in his heart as he undid the chain.

He quickly discovered Taker __had __been putting all of his weight against the door.

Shawn barely caught him, struggling to hold the man with about 100 pounds and 10 inches on him upright.

“Easy, easy,” he dragged him inside, nudging the door shut with his foot. “The hell happened to you?”

Taker didn’t respond, too busy trying to steady his legs.

Having gotten his own footing secured, Shawn let the other man lean into him. There were thousands of questions buzzing in his head, but he forced himself to stay silent. It wasn’t easy, but he knew the Undertaker didn’t take well to prying. He knew a lot of things about the Undertaker.

Over the years they had an on-again, off-again relationship, quintessential for the Heartbreak Kid. It was all physical, stress relief, and a little bit of that taboo behind closed doors excitement. They ran hot and cold with each other, and Shawn could admit that he was the cause behind the rougher patches more often than not. Some days he couldn’t help but butt heads with people, and that didn’t exclude any of his respective partners or friends. No matter how cold their relationship turned as a result of his chaotic tendencies, he knew how to get it hot again. He suspected the Undertaker knew that too. Both men enjoyed their cat and mouse game, even if they weren’t always sure who was the cat and who was the mouse.

In recent months, they were on a cold spell, worse than usual. It wasn’t a direct falling out this time. Distractions came up in their lives and they mutually drifted apart. As commissioner, Shawn’s clashes with DX and the Corporation got him put through a windshield and back in the hospital for his trouble, and the Undertaker had his own problems dealing with Kane and Paul Bearer. Then, Taker went underground--literally and figuratively--for a long while. When he resurfaced with the Ministry, Shawn thought it was safe to put the permanent coup de grace on their relationship.

He would be lying if he said he wasn’t disappointed to see it go, and he would be lying even harder if he said wasn’t thrilled to have Taker close enough to feel his chest move with every breath. The circumstances weren’t ideal thus far, but he would take a win where he could get one.

Where winning was concerned, he hadn’t exactly been scoring of late. The Undertaker was usually his go-to guy when things went haywire with Hunter-- or maybe it was the other way around? He lost track. Either way, Shawn hadn’t been in either of their good graces for a while. Touch starved impulses started to bite at him the longer he had the Undertaker in his arms.

As if reading his mind, and maybe he did, the Undertaker grabbed Shawn’s face and kissed him. It was Shawn’s turn to collapse into the other man for support, tangling his fingers in Taker’s hair and pressing against his chest.

The Undertaker broke the kiss but kept close to Shawn, his grip firm and his glazed over eyes intense. He was silent and unblinking for an uncomfortable length of time, before declaring in a rasp:

“The higher power, it’s you. It’s in you.”

He spoke with such conviction, Shawn couldn’t bring himself to deny it right away. He relaxed his fingers in the Undertaker’s hair, preparing to pull back.

“No…” Shawn forced the uneasiness out of his voice, hoping his face wouldn’t betray him. “I think you’re confused. You’re confusing me with someone else.”

“It’s the truth. You don’t know it, but it’s inside you.”

The Undertaker stroked his face so tenderly, so sweetly, Shawn couldn’t bring himself to deny it a second time. It was always so easy to get swept up and away by the phenom’s magnetism. That night it was effortless. There was something desperate in the Undertaker’s eyes, and Shawn knew that same look was reflected on his own face. Another soft kiss sealed the deal. He was getting in over his head, but he didn’t care.

When he looked back up at the Undertaker again, that faraway look in his eyes had completely vanished.

“I don’t,” conflict written across his face, Taker struggled to speak, “feel. Anything. But you, I can feel you.” He touched his forehead to Shawn’s, “The higher power…that’s it…” It sounded as if he was having a conversation with himself.

An unpleasant feeling twisted Shawn’s stomach up. His desperation was driving him towards a touch, any touch, even a cold, harsh touch like the Undertaker’s. It was better than nothing. But the Undertaker, he was looking for something bigger. He was looking for an answer, a savior of some kind, something Shawn knew he wasn’t. It would be wrong, cruel even, to feed into what those pleading eyes asked for. But Shawn had never been the type of person to do the right thing.

It wasn’t right, but it was easy, and it was what Shawn wanted.

Mutual desperation made the two come completely unglued. Their bodies entwined and lapsed in the dark until they were trembling and drenched in sweat. The Undertaker’s hands moved steady, savoring how wanting Shawn’s body was. Soft, begging breaths were silenced and rewarded with rough kisses. Shawn clawed long red marks that only he would know about into the Undertaker’s back. A curtain of dark hair blotted out the moon shining through the window, as the rest of the world fell away. Familiar, frigid fingers twisted up with Shawn’s, pressing down against the mattress. He swore he felt them getting warmer. Someone whispered “I love you,” but they didn’t mean it.

Finally, they were still and silent, breathing together.

It wasn’t right, and Shawn knew.

“If this is all you wanted,” he spoke tentatively, fearing that moment of integrity would shatter him, “you could have this with anyone, you know.”

“I want it with you.” Taker didn’t hesitate.


	2. Closer to God

By the time Shawn’s back hit the mattress, the Undertaker already had him hard and half-naked. It was embarrassingly obvious that he hadn’t done anything with anyone for months. Typically, Taker’s naturally cold temperature added an extra layer of sensory excitement for Shawn, but he was used to it. It stopped having that shock to it. This time he was yelping with every stroke of those icy fingers inside him. His reaction gave the Undertaker pause, but when the deadman assessed those cries weren’t pain, he started fingering him roughly, using his other hand to caress Shawn’s nipples.

__Oh, come on,__ Shawn wanted to whine, all his built-up sexual frustration unleashing itself at once. He didn’t want Taker to stop or slow down by any means, but he wasn’t ready to end things either. He couldn’t trust his overly sensitive body to hold out that much longer, and he had barely gotten his hands on the other man.

Relenting, the Undertaker shifted his focus to Shawn’s neck, ever so lightly tracing from his ear to his collarbone with his fingertips, then back up. Shawn leaned into the touch with a sigh. Tilting his chin up, he silently invited the deadman’s mouth.

As free-spirited and game to get rough as he was, Shawn was always very particular about keeping his frequently exposed skin unmarked by his nightly activities. Now out of the public eye, or considerably well-clothed when he wasn’t, he resentfully stopped caring. The deadman could leave as many hickies or bruises on him that he wanted. Shawn welcomed him to and wasn’t disappointed.

A hot tongue complemented cold lips with each open-mouthed kiss. Taker bit down on the soft skin above Shawn’s collarbone, sucking to leave a mark that most of his necklines wouldn’t reveal. Gentlemanly of him, really.

Satisfied with the bite mark he left, Taker sat back up, running a hand down Shawn’s inner thigh. Shawn wordlessly responded, opening his legs wider, lifting his hips up.

Biting his lip and closing his eyes, Shawn reaffirmed his decision to veto condoms. It wasn’t exactly safe, but he wanted it raw, wanted to feel the cold stimulation from every inch. A soft moan slipped out of Shawn as Taker pressed deeper inside him, grip tightening. Taker was never much for vocalizing, but the shuddering breath he let out said it all. Yet, Shawn couldn’t help but want to get more out of him. He could at least try.

He squeezed Taker’s waist between his thighs, knowing his heat was affecting Taker as much as the cold was affecting him. That got him a little surprised grunt. Already twitching involuntarily around the other man’s cock, Shawn intentionally tightened up. He bit his lip again, hands fisting in the sheets as he almost brought himself over the edge. Close call. He was starved for it. If he was certain he could go more than one round that night, Shawn would’ve just let it happen. Fuck, it would’ve been hot, too. Taker would probably even be into it. What man didn’t like the idea of making his partner cum from sheer size alone? Shawn swallowed hard. He could whimper in the most pathetic little tone,__ I’m sorry, it’s just so big, I couldn’t take it anymore.__

Too risky, with his stamina unchecked for so many months. He wanted to get rawed as long as he could take it and as hard as the Undertaker could give it.

In the present, Shawn’s tactics were working, mostly. Taker was panting through parted lips, but he wasn’t moving yet.

What did he want? As spoiled as Shawn could be during foreplay, he was a people pleaser in the sheets. There wasn’t a thing on earth he wanted more than that rough, deep voice murmuring praise into his ear.

Taker’s eyes opened, woken by Shawn’s hands on his face, fingers in his hair. As the space between them closed, Shawn moved his hands down his neck, stroking and feeling.

“Please,” he begged in the softest voice. “I need more.”

The Undertaker responded with a violent kiss, punctuated with a rough jerk of his hips. Shawn instinctively bit back, tasting blood, not knowing whose it was. A little guttural growl and Shawn knew Taker tasted it, too. Blood turned him on. Shawn was well aware of that. He remembered letting the Undertaker fuck him, still freshly bloodied and beaten, on his locker room floor after their hell in a cell match, and his pulse spiked. 

The combination of the bruising grip on his hips and the brutal, almost punishing way the Undertaker fucked into him was almost too much. His hands clutched harder, trying to anchor himself. Feeling a touch of mischievous spite, he clawed long red marks into Taker’s back and shoulders. He relished the breathy moan he got in response.

_ _Deadman likes to take pain as much as he likes to give it, huh? Interesting._ _

Just as Taker was starting to pry little pleased gasps out of Shawn with every thrust, he covered his mouth with his own again, kissing him roughly, biting down to draw more blood. Shawn’s back arched off the bed into two waiting hands that slid from his thighs to his hip and back. Without warning, Taker lifted him off the sheets and rolled over into a sitting position.

Shawn clambered to keep his grip as he adjusted to straddling the Undertaker. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. He swore that with the new position, Taker’s cock was even further inside him. God, it was so __cold __and in so __deep.__

Something wet rolled down his chin and he opened his eyes. Saliva? Blood? Before he could wipe it away, Taker’s tongue was following the trail back to his lips, pushing into his mouth for a slow, sensual kiss that tasted like iron. Blood.

Taker firmly gripped Shawn’s chin, stroking the sensitive skin underneath with his index finger. Then he smiled, and gave a teasing nudge of his hips, making Shawn grunt.

“Go on, boy toy,” he whispered against Shawn’s smarting lips. “You know how I like it.”

Oh, god, he’d never called him that, not in bed. Shawn was all but melting with each touch, and Taker went and upped the ante.

All thoughts of taking it slow and trying to last went out the window. Shawn rode him as hard as his hips would let him, all the while raking more red trails into Taker’s pale skin. A cold hand encircled his dick and it wasn’t long at all before he was convulsing and cumming, sobbing against Taker’s tattooed neck. It didn’t matter. He would gladly go all night until he was weak and sore, as long as the Undertaker would order him around in that teasing, degrading tone.

Spent, he collapsed against Taker’s shoulders, panting as the other man continued to rock his helpless body up and down on his cock. It hurt in just the right way that Shawn knew he still had a few more rounds in him. That feeling of being used, of being just a cockwarmer with no autonomy, kept that fire still going in Shawn’s stomach.

He let out a muffled cry, tensing up at the cold cum shot inside of him. Taker pulled out with perfect timing, leaving Shawn with traces running down his sensitive thighs. Marked up, just how __he __liked it.

They rolled over again, the Undertaker gently laying Shawn out on the sheets to recover. His intense eyes scrutinized the trembling, spent body beneath him, and Shawn knew they liked what they saw. As much as Taker liked it when Shawn was on top, there was nothing he loved more than putting him on his back, seeing him lay soaked in sweat, trying to catch his breath, and completely at the deadman’s mercy.

For an unsettling moment, Shawn mistook that infatuated look in his eyes for something like love. No, there was no way. Not in those eyes. Not for that man.

Before Shawn could overthink it, a long-fingered hand stroked down his abdomen, smearing white over his skin, coming to rest at his thigh. Nixing post-coital bliss, Taker seized his hips and flipped him over, putting him on his knees. Shawn’s upper body slumped against the pillow, arching his back up obediently. That position always got him all twisted up inside. There was a natural submissiveness to it. It had an animal feel, offering his body up for the dominant male to do with it as he pleased.

Anticipating a rough thrust, his body twitched in surprise as the other man frotted against him. He bit his lip as the full length drag down his backside, then pushed in between his thighs. Feeling it harden against his skin, his breath caught, arousal surging through him. He was being toyed with. Did the Undertaker want him to beg?

He opened his mouth to plead, but only a muffled yelp came out as Taker rammed him from behind. He wasn’t ready to take it so hard, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to ask the phenom to slow down. One hand left his waist to press down on his back. With his chest flush against the mattress and his hips being held in place, he couldn’t move his body. All he could do was lay prone and take it. A helpless feeling of being overpowered engulfed him. If Shawn ever had to make a list of what he liked most about fucking the Undertaker, that was number one. Even getting bound and gagged didn’t give Shawn as satisfying of a prey feeling like the one he got when the big man imposed that extraordinary strength on him. Now, if he could just get the Undertaker to talk down to him again…

Shawn hadn’t realized the pillow was muffling his voice until Taker seized him by the hair and yanked him up. Pain shot from his scalp down the back of his neck. He became acutely aware of the heated breath tickling his shoulder. Teeth raked and tugged his skin, eliciting a soft cry.

“That’s it,” Taker breathed harshly against Shawn’s skin. “Let me hear that sexy voice.”

In the position he was bent in, Shawn had no choice. Unabashed moans slipped from his lips, the mix of pain and pleasure bringing him closer to his boiling point as the Undertaker had his way with his body.

A long tongue dragged across his nape, accompanied by a soft growl of, “Good boy.”

He let out a shaky laugh, “Oh, am I? Are you going to reward me, Master?”

He said it without thinking, and truly had no idea how the Undertaker was going to react.

Taker’s hips faltered and slowed. He made a soft humming sound, letting go of Shawn’s hair. Grabbing his wrist instead, he pulled it in between his legs.

“Don’t cum until I tell you to.” Then, with the softest, barest chuckle, he added, “And keep calling me Master. I like that.”

“Yes, Master.”

The Undertaker’s hands returned their painful grip on Shawn’s hips, leaving the man face down with only one arm to support himself.

Shawn writhed and whined as Taker used his body. He couldn’t recall ever having anything but a good time in bed with Taker, but that little psychological twist on things was making the night downright heavenly. He was so hard it hurt, and every second of delay was turning him on more. He didn’t know what he was waiting for, or what would happen if he __didn’t __wait. Would the Undertaker punish him? He could only hope. Already feeling punished enough, however, Shawn obediently held back, all the while begging his “master” to fuck him harder.

Finally, it was over. He let out a sigh of relief as the other man pulled out, and he let go of the vice grip he had on his own cock. Two large, and oddly warmer than usual, hands pushed him onto his back.

The Undertaker traced his fingers down Shawn’s cheek, cupping his face gently and pressing a surprisingly soft kiss on his lips. Then he kissed down his jaw, then his neck, mouth slowly moving down Shawn’s body until he was sucking another dark mark on his cum-stained inner thigh. His hands slid down around the backs of Shawn’s legs, gripping roughly. With no warning, he wrenched them up, almost bending him in half.

Shawn squirmed involuntarily as his hips were lifted off the bed. Complaints of the slight ache in his body fizzled out on his lips at the sensation of Taker licking a trail from his hole to his balls, slow and teasing. He relaxed, letting his head fall back against the pillow, closing his eyes.

Stopping short, tongue just barely touching the base of Shawn’s cock, Taker switched to nipping at the sensitive skin of Shawn’s inner thighs, planting occasional open mouth kisses on them. It really did seem like he was content to just leave the man on his back hanging for however long it was he wanted to play with him for. Just as Shawn thought the anticipation might kill him, the deadman lowered his hips to rest on a waiting pillow. Opening his eyes, he experienced a brief moment of despair, thinking Taker had it in mind to leave him high and dry. Then the Undertaker started fingering him again.

It wasn’t the same as earlier that night. The first time was a means to an end, a prerequisite, clinical in nature at worst, and impatiently rough at best. This time, his hands were gentle and methodical, looking to stimulate instead of prepare. His thumb pressed and rubbed Shawn’s taint, middle and ring fingers stroking his insides with little come hither motions.

Shawn knew what he was doing, but he still couldn’t stop his hips from jumping when Taker found his prostate.

A small, shuddering breath escaped him, and he forced the soft words out, “Again. Please, Master.”

He acutely felt Taker’s eyes on him in the dark as those long, deft fingers massaged the sweet spot. He hadn’t gotten permission to cum yet, but the tingly warmth blossoming in his belly told him he was dangerously close. With a frustrated whine, he bit down on his hand, grabbing at the sheets with the other one.

Suddenly Taker’s tongue glided up the length of Shawn’s cock, fingers not slowing with their torturous kneading. Shawn cursed under his breath, fingernails digging into his palm, legs going rigid. There was no way he could hang on any longer if Taker kept pushing him like that. There was just no way--

“Come for me, boy toy.”

With one last teasing flick of his tongue against the head, Taker swallowed him down. Shawn’s hips involuntarily surged in response. It wasn’t long before the warmth and pressure downstairs engulfed his entire body in one rapturous wave. He near blacked out at the intensity, his senses completely overwhelmed.

Then it was over. Afterglow set in almost immediately, his shaking, stiff body going limp with a blissful buzz overtaking it. He closed his eyes, reveling in the floating feeling. He could remotely feel a warm, wet cloth against his skin. Then Taker’s lips were on him again, kissing a line up his neck, peppering his jaw with quick smooches, then stopping to nip at his earlobe.

Even with the all-consuming post-orgasm high fogging up his head, he unmistakably heard three words being whispered against his skin:

“I love you.”

__No, you don’t,__ Shawn sighed, opening his eyes.__ You definitely don’t.__

To make things worse, the Undertaker reached for Shawn’s left hand, locking their fingers together against the rumpled bedsheets. His hands felt so warm and human with love. Uneasiness gripped Shawn’s heart. But still, he returned the gentle squeeze. He still lifted his free hand to affectionately stroke the long, dark, sex-mussed hair. He still laid in bed and pretended what they were doing was okay.

“If this was all you wanted, you could have this with anyone, you know.”

“I want it with you.”

Shawn closed his eyes.


	3. No Plan

From their past trysts, Shawn had never seen the Undertaker sleep. The man himself claimed _not _to sleep. Sure enough, the next morning when he woke up, Taker was out cold. Knowing he was risking him waking and finding out what he was doing, Shawn watched the Undertaker’s sleeping face intently. The permanently furrowed, heavy brow was relaxed, giving the illusion of vulnerability. Shawn hadn’t spent a lot of time imagining what the Undertaker would look like if he ever slept, but he figured it would be more corpse-like. He looked peaceful and human.

Shawn finally untangled himself from the other man’s long arms, standing with a suppressed groan. Knowing he couldn’t bring himself to directly wake Taker up, he opened the half-cracked blinds. Taker responded with a little grumble, shifting away from the window, covering his face with his arm.

Ugh.

Cute.

Shawn gave up. The Undertaker would wake up on his own eventually.

The least Shawn could do while he waited was play good host and make breakfast. Plus, he needed a little time to unpack the night, alone.

It wasn’t unusual for the Heartbreak Kid to be the recipient of men vying for his attention. He was aware of his limitless charms and knew how to use them to his advantage. He expected pining. That coming from the Undertaker was…weird. And not only because he seemed to be having some kind of religious experience over it.

Where their relationship was concerned, the Undertaker was a very aloof man, as he was with most things in life. Shawn never had the pleasure of making him swoon, or get him wrapped around his finger the way he did other men. He was a challenge, which only made Shawn want to go after him more--to an extent. He couldn’t risk looking needy, himself, heaven forbid.

Clearly, the Undertaker wanted him, why else would he keep coming back? But this new, bizarre craving he was displaying, it was different.

Before, it was a brief brush in the backstage hallways. Taker would grab his arm as they passed by, and Shawn knew what he wanted. He relished the way Taker’s grip tightened on him after he facetiously asked “your place or mine?” before the deadman vanished into his locker room, waiting for Shawn to follow. They didn’t waste time exchanging sweet nothings. The Undertaker never let on that it meant anything to him.

Did he?

Shawn bit his thumb, staring at the unlit stove.

Shawn wasn’t much for deep contemplation, but looking back, tracking their encounters, there was a definite increase after Bearer betrayed Taker for Mankind. In fact, he could only recall them sleeping together one time before that milestone. It was never intended to be anything more than that. Then Taker got let off his leash, and Shawn was more than willing to help him break out of that repressed shell. The first time was pretty damn good, so why not a second, third, fourth, fifth, and so on? Eventually, they had their own little scuffles and if the Heartbreak Kid knew one thing about conflict, it was how to turn it into sexual tension. Not the wisest or kindest decision, Taker’s circumstances with Kane considered, but it worked

He thought it was that simple, but the night before had him wondering if his conclusions were off.

Of course. There was an overarching theme. How had he not seen it before? Mankind. Bearer. Kane. Now, some sort of crisis of self and faith in the Ministry. The Undertaker was alone, and he was in distress. He didn’t have anyone to go to in those times of vulnerability, all he had was…

If Shawn paid more attention, the night before wouldn’t have come as such a shock.

The deadman had it bad for him. It didn’t give Shawn the usual smug satisfaction of conquest, only guilt. If he ever experienced that feeling before, it didn’t compare to how he felt it in that moment of dawning.

Heavy, slow footsteps coming down the stairs woke him from his musing, and he panicked. Radio. Singing. At least pretend to be cooking, for God’s sake, don’t let him know anything’s wrong.

When the steps got close enough, he sang out, “Good morning, sunshine! I’d ask how you slept, but I already know it was like a rock.” Glancing over his shoulder, his eyebrows went up, “You, uh, a little cold there, deadman?”

Taker was wrapped up in Shawn’s duvet like a giant gold cocoon. His eyes met Shawn’s strongly, and he murmured an affirmation.

As Shawn tried to come up with something flirty to say, struggling unusually with it that morning, the Undertaker silenced him with, “You should forget about last night.”

Shawn, still reeling from his realization and not ready to get into another deep discussion, put a hand over his chest and threw on an offended expression, “Was it that bad?”

The Undertaker set his jaw, eyes narrowing a bit, the picture of irritation. Then he reached out and plucked the hand from Shawn’s chest, kissing the back of it. Shawn’s heart fluttered in spite of itself.

“You know it wasn’t,” he murmured. “And you know that’s not what I meant.”

“Yeah,” Shawn tilted his hand to trace his fingers down Taker’s jaw. “I know. And you’re right. I think we both,” he took a deep breath, “did and said some things that we maybe regret? A little?” He inclined his head, probing, “Things maybe we didn’t mean?”

“No,” the Undertaker replied bluntly. “I meant it. But it was wrong.” Brow furrowed, he closed his eyes and shook his head as if trying to rid his head of something, “Just forget it.”

“Well. You forget it too. Alright?”

It was as close to a sympathetic sentiment as he would get out loud. It wouldn’t be right, him getting off scot-free while the Undertaker wasn’t going to let it go. He had enough feelings about Shawn bottled up, didn’t he? Would it kill the man to talk to him in plain English about all that?

A warm hand cupped Shawn’s face, an arm drawing him close by the waist. He wished that God in his infinite wisdom had given him the willpower to pull away from the kiss, but he didn’t have it in him.

“Damn it,” Taker breathed, breaking the kiss, nuzzling Shawn’s cheek. “I don’t want to.”

“Then you need to talk to me!” Shawn shoved his chest, not hard enough to push him away, but making his point. “I don’t get you. I don’t get what you’re trying to do, I don’t get what you want with me--I just don’t get it, okay? And that ain’t all my fault, it’s your fault too!” He was pouting and felt pathetic about it, but still grumbled, “I’m not a mind reader y’know.”

The stray, mussed locks of hair that fell in front of Taker’s face couldn’t hide the flash of a smile.

“You’re--”

A loud crash swallowed the Undertaker’s words. The two jolted, staring in the direction of the noise, the front door.

The hands resting on Shawn’s shoulders clenched into fists.

“Time’s up,” Taker growled ominously, eyes not leaving the doorway.

The last thing Shawn saw before he ended up dazed against a wall was Viscera barreling into the kitchen, followed closely behind Mideon and the Acolytes. Someone knocked him back, maybe it was the Undertaker. He forgot whose hands he saw do it when his head cracked against the wood. When his eyes finally focused, they zeroed in on the blanket on the ground. It would get dirty down there. Taker was going to get cold again.

Then he raised his head and saw Mideon kneeling down, holding the urn up to the outstretched hand of the Undertaker. There were no signs of resistance.

With a terrible knot in his stomach, Shawn slid further down, hoping that if he made himself as small as possible the Ministry would leave without addressing him. No such luck was on his side that morning as the Undertaker turned to look straight at him like something out of a goddamn horror movie. He had that murky, lifeless look in his eyes. A sinister smile split across his face as he strode over and grabbed Shawn’s collar, pulling him upright.

“Shawn Michaels,” he sounded the name out with a condescending tint to his voice. “How __is __life on the shelf?” Cruel simper not wavering, he tilted his head, “Looking at you now, I’d say it’s miserable and desperate. Why McMahon lets you waste away out here when you’d make such a pretty little pawn is beyond me.”

Under most circumstances, Shawn would take a backhanded compliment where he could get it, but that one warranted spite.

Giving the Undertaker his nastiest smirk, he replied, “Sorry, deadman, but you know better than anyone that I don’t lay down for anybody. Why don’t you and your little circus go threaten someone who’s actually intimidated by you? Maybe try the elementary school down the road?”

Laughing quietly, Taker let go of him. He feigned stepping back long enough for Shawn to relax, before seizing him by the throat. His grip was firm, but the strangling squeeze never came. The smile vanished from his face. His brow furrowed, eye twitching. A frustrated growl came from his chest, but his hand never clenched.

“Oh, you’re a lucky boy, Michaels. That soft spot just might save your life--this time.” He leaned in close, whispering harshly, “You listen, and you listen up good, boy. You better keep your head down and do your damn job: nothing. I ain’t saying you gotta lie down for anyone, but you sure as hell better keep looking the other way.” His grip tensed and he added, “And if you come near my vessel again, you’re gonna pay, and you’re gonna pay dearly.” There was that facial twitch again. “He can’t protect you forever.”

With that cryptic growl, the Undertaker was gone and with him went his Ministry. Left alone, Shawn still felt that phantom grip on his throat. His body was too afraid to move and his mind was too frazzled to process. All he could think about was how very, very cold that hand was.


	4. Free Animal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now we skip to Judgment Day (2000)! Taker has an internal bullshit alarm for whenever Shawn's about to fuck up in refereeing a match. Like how people can tell cold weather is coming because of their broken arm or whatever.

Getting chased out of the arena by seven feet of leather-clad, boiling rage was not how Shawn planned on spending his night. Worst case scenario, he figured it would be Hunter or the Rock running him out of town. With the way the night went down, he was banking on the Rock mowing him down. No one, Shawn included, thought they would ever see the Undertaker again after his sudden disappearance. Yet, there he was, hot on the Heartbreak Kid’s heels.

There was a split second when Shawn was almost thankful it had been Taker following after him. He had never seen the phenom break more than a brisk walk. Outrunning him couldn’t be that hard.

Or so he thought until he heard the sound of a motorbike revving.

_ _Well. Shit._ _

Sprinting for his life was futile, but Shawn tried anyway. The bike circled to cut him off, braking hard in front of him and he stumbled to an alarmed halt. Wasting little time, and with a flourish of his long coat, Taker dismounted and advanced menacingly on the figuratively cornered man.

“You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me,” he spat, towering over him.

Shawn was a little terrified, but he wasn’t about to let it show.

“Don’t start!” He snapped back. “I called it how I saw it, I called the whole match right down the middle. I have been nothing but fair, and you and all those people in there are still gonna give me crap for it!”

“Yeah, keep telling yourself that, Michaels,” Taker growled, glowering. “You let the McMahons run roughshod over that kid so your little boyfriend in there gets the gold, but yeah, you ain’t done nothin’ wrong, as usual. Every single time, it’s everyone’s fault but yours.”

“Oh, come off it! After that stunt you pulled in there, you’re really gonna pin this whole thing on me?” He lowered his voice with a smug smile, “Maybe you should worry more about watching your back instead of getting on mine. I mean if I were the Rock, I wouldn’t be too happy with you.”

“Don’t change the subject.”

“What more is there to say? Why do you even give a damn, it’s not like it matters to you whether it's Hunter or the Rock.”

Hands on his hips, Taker refused to budge, “I have my reasons.”

Shawn rolled his eyes, throwing up his hands dramatically, “Of course. Here we go. Give me some cryptic dark side bullshit about judgment day. Go take your attack of conscience out on someone else, I don’t have to stand here and take this.”

The Undertaker’s eyes narrowed, fixed intensely on Shawn, but he spoke no more. He had simmered down, leaving Shawn all riled up on his own. The Heartbreak Kid wasn’t about to let that stand.

Shoving the bigger man, he snapped, “I said go.”

The deadman’s eyes widened with a flare of anger. Shawn saw Taker’s hand coming, but instead of trying to dodge or brace himself for its choking hold, he tilted his chin up invitingly. His eyes slid shut as the large hand seized his hair, warm lips pressing against his own.

_ _Warm?_ _

The Undertaker wasn’t supposed to be warm. He was cold, in temperature and temperament. Last time he stopped being cold, bad things happened. There had to be a correlation. The mutual body heat between them concerned Shawn, but it was hard to be wary with Taker feeling him up.

Gloved hands glided down his spine, stopping to lift him by the backs of his thighs. Settling into the embrace, Shawn locked his fingers at Taker’s neck and wrapped his legs around his waist.

Kissing Taker felt different. Beyond the temperature change, he was more aggressive. His whole body was sparking with that vigor. When Taker broke the liplock for air, Shawn realized he had never done that before. The Undertaker never got breathless. When Shawn pressed close to his chest, Taker’s heart never beat against his. He had no clue what was changing within the Undertaker, but the man felt alive. Whether that was a good or bad thing, Shawn also didn’t know.

With Shawn gathered in his arms, Taker turned and planted him on the seat of his bike. He settled between Shawn’s exposed thighs. Stuck between the handlebars and Taker’s lap, Shawn was effectively trapped. The way those lusty green eyes scanned his body had him wondering about Taker’s true intentions. He cast an anxious glance in the direction they came from. He wasn’t averse to having sex on the Undertaker’s bike (first time for everything, right?), but the parking garage was bound to have visitors soon.

Seizing Shawn’s chin, Taker forced the showstopper to face forward.

“Look at me,” he snarled.

Shawn grabbed his lapels in turn, yanking him closer.

“Make me,” he hissed.

They leered at each other. It was Taker’s turn, and Shawn’s defiant eyes dared him to make a move. Then the phenom smiled and laughed. It was a quiet, malicious chuckle that made the hair on Shawn’s skin bristle. Releasing Taker’s jacket, he submitted. Taker lunged forward and Shawn wrapped his arms around his neck. Their lips met fervently.

Shawn gave Taker control, but he wasn’t ready to be tamed yet. He had an agenda.

The deadman was notoriously stoic. He may not have been wholly passionless, but that was the aloof veneer he wore. That strong and silent shtick was assuredly in Shawn’s wheelhouse for attraction. He never felt anything was missing or needed anything more out of Taker. Taker didn’t have to change-- but he did. He changed, and that calm mask was splintering. He was as messy and caught up in the moment as Shawn was. The Heartbreak Kid simply __had __to know how far he could push him.

Shawn snapped the band off of Taker’s ponytail, tangling a hand in his thick hair. With clear intention, he gripped the roots above the nape. Taker was sensitive there. Shawn didn’t pull his hair often, but when he did, the other man __purred.__ He caressed the back of Taker’s neck, one finger at a time, like playing a piano. His nails intermittently glided across the tender flesh.

Taker’s lips gradually lost rhythm with Shawn’s, but he had yet to give in. That was fine. Shawn had an arsenal. He nipped and sucked at Taker’s bottom lip. He pulled Taker’s hair and pressed his nails into his neck. He twisted his hips out of Taker’s grip, grinding against him. That was the last straw, but not to Shawn’s advantage.

Doubling up on his grasp on Shawn’s hips, Taker held him down and pulled back. Regardless, the damage had been done. His face was flushed, and his lips were red and wet as he caught his breath. To Shawn’s dismay, he cooled down promptly.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish, Michaels.”

Slackening his grip, Shawn relaxed on the handlebars with a laugh. “You must’ve been gone longer than I thought if you’ve already forgotten: I finish __everything __I start.” He paused, then shifted to a serious tone with a hint of surliness, “You could’ve called.”

Taker adjusted his bandana, “You know I don’t have a phone.”

“Send a letter?” He huffed, “I mean, come on, I was. You know.”

“Don’t tell me you were lonely,” Taker’s voice dripped skepticism.

“Oh please, I don’t get lonely,” he waved the accusation away. “Like any normal human being, I was concerned. You just up and disappeared, what was I-- what was anyone supposed to think?”

Taker grunted noncommittally, pulling the ponytail holder out of Shawn’s hair to replace his own. “I’m back now, right?”

That was the best answer Shawn would get. Pushing the matter was futile until Taker wanted to give him a better answer.

Distantly, he heard the sound of a car starting. It was Taker’s turn to look past Shawn at the hypothetical intruders.

“You got a choice to make,” his gaze remained fixed. “You staying or coming?”

Nothing about Taker’s demeanor suggested one answer or the other. Shawn wanted to go, and only a small fraction of that want was sexual. His top priority was getting answers. He had to know what that night meant. Though he promised otherwise, he was unable to forget about it. Those glassy eyes haunted him, made him question himself. They both thought what went down that night was wrong, but was it?

Up until that night, the two had never spoken in such a candid way. Taker was allergic to emotional vulnerability, and Shawn had grown too accustomed to covering his feelings up with caustic behaviors and quips. In a one-night stand setting, that was fine, but it was more than once. With every encounter, in spite of themselves, they knew each other more. The respect he had for the Undertaker was replaced by fondness. He didn’t realize until it was too late, and the deadman dropped off the face of the planet. Fate gave him a second chance.

The problem was Shawn couldn’t tell how the Undertaker felt about him, and he didn’t know how to make him talk. Furthermore, they were supposed to have forgotten about that night. Navigating that conversation wouldn’t be easy if he had to pretend it never happened. If Taker wasn’t in a chatty mood, none of that mattered. In the end, the only certainty he had that night was if he went with the Undertaker, he would get laid.

Testing the waters, Shawn asked, “Which do you want me to do?”

Meeting Shawn’s eyes, Taker responded after a pause, “Come with me.”


	5. Shooting Shadows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now we flip to Taker's POV.

As the Undertaker led one shaky-legged Shawn Michaels into his hotel room, he felt a little snap of regret for letting him on the back of his bike. He should have just called a taxi. __Shawn __should have said something about not doing so well on motorcycles. Either way, it was becoming increasingly more likely that motion sickness was going to ruin the night’s plans that Taker began formulating the second he planted that kiss on the former commissioner’s lips outside the arena.

Resilient as he was, Shawn managed to shrug it off by the time they reached the room. Belatedly, he registered exactly where they were.

“A hotel, huh?” Shawn put his index finger on his lips, strolling in leisurely. “Almost as if __someone __was expecting __something __tonight.” He turned to wink at Taker over his shoulder.

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Can’t help it. It’s just who I am.”

Some things never changed. Good.

As Shawn started snooping around, Taker grabbed his wrist, startling himself just as much as he startled Shawn. His wrist was a little cold from being outside. Taker knew his recent transformation would take a little getting used to, but touching a human being--another human being, that is, and having their skin feel cold? Bemusing.

Shawn stared curiously at him, waiting for him to make a move.

Taker hastily loosened his grip, taking Shawn’s hand instead, pulling him close. He knew Shawn wanted him to be dominating and rough, but he couldn’t do it, as much as he wanted to. To his own dismay, he was nervous. For anyone else, it would make sense. Even with his recent memory being spotty, he knew it had to be almost two years since he last slept with Shawn. Not only that but since then all he could remember doing was having a near-disastrous one night stand with a certain rattlesnake. It was safe to say he was out of practice, with only the knowledge that he and Shawn had amazing chemistry in the sheets to calm his nerves. That was the thing, he didn’t __get “__nerves.” Every day he seemed to discover another human emotion he hadn’t been privy to, and if he was being perfectly honest, he could have done without most of them. Nervousness, fear, excitement, all hindrances.

The butterflies in his stomach when Shawn leaned up to kiss him first almost made all those other feelings worth it.

It wasn’t like he was in love with Shawn or anything. Certainly not. He had a burst of heightened positive emotions since seeing him earlier that night, but it wasn’t a romantic love. It was just an attraction. It would wear off someday.

“What are you waiting for?” Shawn murmured against Taker’s lips in between kisses.

“Hm?” The question gave Taker pause.

With a little half-smile, Shawn responded with a dry, “Well, usually you got me naked by now.” Slinging his arms around Taker’s neck, he continued, “You’re awfully touchy-feely tonight, deadman.”

There seemed to be another question in those words. The Undertaker really didn’t want to answer it. He didn’t know the answer. His only guess was that without the sometimes uncomfortable difference in body heat, touching Shawn was easier. He just wanted to savor it a little. Nothing wrong with that. Nothing strange about it.

Feeling like Shawn was making some __incorrect __sentimental assumptions, Taker grumbled back, the tiniest bit embarrassed, “If you don’t like it, you know where the door is.”

“Ooh, touchy-feely and touchy,” Shawn lilted, sliding his hands to cup Taker’s cheeks. “Easy, big guy, I never said I didn’t like it.” He kissed him again. “It’s just…different.”

Different. Taker imagined he would be hearing a lot of that in the near future. He already heard it from his brother. More accurately, the word Kane used was “wrong,” and more specifically the sentence was “what’s wrong with you?” At least Shawn wasn’t interested in pressing any further.

That was one of the things Taker quite liked about Shawn. Being with him was easy. It was enough. He rarely demanded anything Taker didn’t mind giving.

“You were a lot rougher in the parking lot,” Shawn’s words brought Taker’s attention back to him.

Tilting his head to speak directly into Shawn’s ear, Taker replied, “You want me to rough you up, Michaels?”

“You know I like my men nasty.”

Oh, Taker could give him nasty.

With a throaty chuckle, he ran his hand up Shawn’s back, taking a loose grip on his hair, “Get on your knees and try asking nicely.” Releasing him, he settled on the edge of the bed, legs open.

Not breaking eye contact, Shawn dropped to his knees. He placed his hands on Taker’s thighs, sliding them up to rest at his hips, leaning in. As he opened his mouth to speak, Taker shushed him with two fingers on his lips.

“Not like that.”

The surprise on Shawn’s face was fleeting, replaced with knowing smirk. He ran his tongue slowly up Taker’s fingers, kissing his fingertips.

“Good boy,” Taker spoke in a rough, quiet voice.

As Shawn fellated his fingers, he twisted his wrist around, stroking the sensitive roof of Shawn’s mouth with his fingertips, liking the little whimper he got in response.

Pulling his hand back, he undid his belt buckle, “You gonna swallow for me tonight, boy toy?”

Inexplicably winded, Shawn nodded.

Grabbing his hair again, Taker pulled him upright, making him wince, “Answer me.”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, sir.”

No, that wasn’t it. Not quite.

“Yes, __what?”__ He pulled harder.

Cringing, and letting out a little shuddering breath, Shawn corrected himself, “Yes, master.”

That felt right. Taker let go. As he settled back on the bed, Shawn was already clambering onto his lap, hands making quick work of his pants.

Just as he did with the deadman’s fingers, Shawn ran his tongue up the shaft, slow and teasing. There was already a bit of coloration to his face. It was a wonder how turned on he got from a little bit of being ordered around. Taker made a mental note of that.

Forgoing gentleness, Taker tangled his fingers in Shawn’s hair, tugging and combing through it as the other man took him into his mouth.

“That’s it. You know what you’re good for.”

Whether Shawn’s little humming noises were intentional or involuntary, reactive moans, the way they vibrated over Taker’s cock made his breath catch. His nails bit into Shawn’s scalp when he was pulled further in, Shawn’s throat constricting around him as he swallowed.

Seeing eager desperation on that pretty face tickled some mean spirited intentions in the Undertaker’s heart. As Shawn’s lips brushed the tip of his cock, he yanked him back down by his hair.

“Not fast enough, boy toy.”

He took hold of Shawn’s face, holding it still as he fucked his mouth. Shawn was making little choking noises, but Taker felt him relax his jaw and throat around him. He liked it. He was folding like a stack of cards, further stirring those dominant, borderline sadistic urges burning within the Undertaker.

Relenting, Taker pulled out, letting Shawn catch his breath between coughs. Then he thrust back in, a little harder this time.

Even in the semi-dark of the room, he caught Shawn sliding his hand between his legs, rubbing at himself over his shorts, hips thrusting forward. With the combination of being physically and verbally overpowered, and that slight pain Taker knew he was inflicting, it was no surprise that Shawn was already getting off with Taker barely having laid a finger on him.

Yanking Shawn back by his hair, Taker snapped, “Did I tell you to touch yourself, you fucking skank?”

Again, that shock on Shawn’s face dissolved into a little aroused grin. He wordlessly raised his hands, holding them together at the wrists, offering them up to the Undertaker.

“It ain’t gonna be that easy, boy.” With ease, Taker pulled Shawn up and dumped him onto the bed. “Take your clothes off. Now.”

With a snicker, Shawn got comfortable on the bed, “Really? You want __me __to take my clothes off__ lying down?__ Waste of a show, deadman,” he sang out, undoing the buttons on his shirt.

Readjusting his belt, Taker knelt to fish through his bag for lube. He knew its presence in his bag was damning evidence, and Shawn would point that out. But Taker __liked __that bratty side the man had.

“Oh-ho, so someone __was __trying to get lucky tonight,” Shawn immediately gloated, kicking his briefs off to the side. “Good thing you ran into me.” He winked, “I’m pretty easy.”

That was a hell of a softball to throw, but Taker deigned not to take the swing. Tossing the lube on the bed, he untied his bandana, shamelessly eyeing the now very naked man on his bed. He grabbed Shawn’s wrists, pinning them above his head and tying them up. Then he pulled his belt off and lashed the bandana to the headboard.

Dropping the soft bedroom voice he had been using, he commanded, “Try and move them.”

Glancing above his head, Shawn gave an experimental tug. Nothing. Struggling and violently wrenching his arms around did nothing either. Perfect.

“Good.” Taker took hold of Shawn’s chin, lifting it up and leaning in to run his tongue up the side of his neck. “Now you’re all mine.”

Ignoring how badly he wanted to fuck the other man, Taker slid his hand down Shawn’s neck, squeezing lightly. When he reached his chest, he lightly dug in his nails, enough to feel it but not hard enough to hurt. Except for his middle finger. That one left a line.

Shawn’s breathing was heavy with anticipation when Taker’s lube-slicked fingers pressed inside of him with ease. He was pushing back against him, body needy for more. Taker responded by slowing down, letting him get frustrated. He couldn’t make him work for it if he was tied up, but he could still tease the hell out of him.

Thrusting in a third finger as if to punctuate his words, Taker spoke into Shawn’s ear, “Doesn’t feel like you’ve been very lonely.”

“I told you,” Shawn struggled to speak as Taker started working him faster, “I don’t get lonely.”

“You still fucking Helmsley or did you find someone new?”

“Maybe I’m doing both.”

Taker laughed, a rough and sinister sound that made Shawn’s body tense, his hips jerking up against his merciless fingers. Another very interesting kink for Taker to make a mental note of.

“Still whoring around the roster, huh?”

“Am I detecting jealousy?”

“Nah. Being the locker room’s bottom bitch made you a halfway decent lay.”

“Oh, Taker, you wound me. I’m the best you’ll ever get.”

“We’ll see.”

“Come off it. What would you even do if you didn’t have me, go back to taking it up the ass from Austin?”

Genuinely surprised, Taker froze. Pulling out and wiping his hand off, he fixed Shawn with a hard look, dropping all sexual pretenses.

“How the hell did you know about that?”

“I have my ways,” he taunted. “I know all about your little experimenting with Goldust, too. And I’ve got some suspicions that after our menage a trois, Diesel took you for another ride. Say what you want about me, but you got some dirty little secrets, deadman.”

Taker couldn’t think of anything to say back, mystified over how much Shawn knew.

The little smirk dropped, and Shawn looked a little concerned, asking in his normal tone, “Too…far?”

“No, but,” Taker shook his head with a shrug. “That ain’t exactly public knowledge.”

“You know I’m a gossip,” Shawn tried to stretch with the restriction of the belt. “But, y’know, consider it dropped.” Cocking his head to the side, he pressed onward, “This is a little new for you, you doing okay?”

Feeling a little tickle of embarrassment, he deflected immediately, “Are you?”

“I’m having the time of my life over here, and I asked you first.”

“I’m fine.”

“Fine?” Shawn repeated. “Taker, that’s a terrible answer. You’re having sex with me, for Christ’s sake.” He rustled against the bindings, “Untie me, I’ll show you better than “fine.””

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

As the words left his mouth, a sharp pain cracked through the back of his skull. Then it was gone.

“Well. You forget it too. Alright?”

Taker turned his focus to Shawn’s face, “Forget what?”

Expression skeptical, Shawn echoed, “What?”

“What did you just say?”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“...Are you sure?”

“Yeah, Taker, I’m pretty sure I didn’t say anything. Seriously, are you alright? We can call this off, y’know. My hard-on, my problem, as they say.”

Suppressing a smile at the oh-so Shawn-like quip, Taker replied, “I’m good. For real.” Leisurely tracing the contours of Shawn’s chest, he changed his tone, “You’re not getting away from me that easy.”

Biting his lip to hide a smile, Shawn sarcastically despaired, “Oh no, you’ve got me, whatever will I do?”

Sidling in between Shawn’s legs, Taker repeated, “What will you do?” Then he laughed, that dark chuckle that made Shawn shiver, “I think you’ll beg, Shawn.”

Waiting for a reply, he took his time undressing the rest of himself, putting on a condom and lubing himself up. Occasionally he cast a sidelong glance at Shawn, wondering if he was going to fight it or start pleading. He eventually nestled in close, planting his hands on either side of Shawn’s hips. Taker intently watched his flushed face as the wheels turned in his eyes.

“Let’s get something straight,” Shawn tossed his head, flipping stray locks out of his eyes. “I’m a slut. I can admit it. Not exactly ashamed of it. But these past few months, despite what __you __think, I’ve been a very good boy. I’ve just had, shall we say, a lot of alone time,” he emphasized the last two words heavily. “And here’s the thing about it, deadman, it’s not for lack of trying or interest.” He stopped, taking a moment to look the Undertaker right in the face, lips slightly parted, sultry eyes glittering beneath long lashes. “It’s because of you. Because I can’t stop thinking about you. Every damn time I try, and it’s driving me crazy. Do you remember what happened after hell in a cell?” He laughed, shaking his head, “I sure as hell do. You waited until I was alone and stormed into my locker room, all prepared to tear me to shreds, I’m sure.”

Taker shrugged but murmured in agreement. That wasn’t incorrect.

“Then I batted my eyelashes at you and bit my lip, and you just couldn’t help yourself,” Shawn intoned. “There I was, all alone, and you know I sure as hell was on offer. So you pounced.” He paused again, surveying Taker for a reaction, any reaction. “Once wasn’t enough for you, either. No, we locked those doors and we stayed all night long.” His breath caught as he recalled, “You’re insatiable, deadman. Like a fucking animal. You screwed me ‘til I passed out.”

Taker inclined his head. None of Shawn’s monologue qualified as “begging.” That didn’t mean he didn’t like it. He had a noteworthy fondness of the nighttime rendezvous in question. It was easy to forget all the trials in his life when he was fucking Shawn up against the shower wall. He had a distinct recollection of watching the blood on Shawn’s face wash away, diluted drops rolling down his neck. He was beautiful. Beautiful enough that the detestation filling Taker’s lungs emptied out of him with each ardent breath. Why was it so hard to hate Shawn? Was it pure, feral lust, or something more disconcerting?

“You know what I think, Taker?” Shawn’s little purr brought the phenom’s attention back to him. “I think you might be a little crazy about me too. How much longer do you think you can hold back? You want me so fucking bad, and you finally got me. So hurry up and fuck me. Shut me up. Make me your bitch.” He stopped, a well-pleased smile spreading across his face. “You know you want to.”

He still wasn’t begging, but it was good enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Re: the ~dirty little secrets~ I'm going to forever stand by Taker and Stone Cold hatefucking when on the highway to hell build up. I don't know if I'll ever actually write any Taker/Stone Cold (maybe in the wild west AU setting?), and if I ever decide to traipse into writing Goldust fic, it's gonna be Goldust/Booker T, HOWEVER. I do have the HBK/Diesel/Taker threesome hinted at in the works. Something to look forward to if you, too, have a sexual affinity for big men. And, of course, the post-hell in a cell fuck scene will eventually take fanfic form, too. I reference it wayyy too often to not.


	6. Cardiac Arrest

Sleeping was like death. Both were only temporary when it came to the Undertaker. The only difference was dreams. Death kept him company, without fail. Spirits would nag at him, pulling him back, whispering in his ear. Dreams were flighty nonsense, there one night, gone the next, illogical at best. Death was a constant, keeping his eyes pried open and his mind running. Sleep was nothing more than an unreliable blackout.

His eyes never opened quite as easily when he woke up. His vision was blurry, body heavy, mind groggy. His senses gradually returned, seeing lights and colors, and hearing a familiar voice.

“Oh, you know, just checking in a return customer to the ole heartbreak hotel. --What do you mean who? You know who.”

Familiar, teasing voice, colorful enough to visualize a wink and then an eye roll.

“Yeah. Yeah, I know. I know, dropped you on your head, yeah.”

The voice was coming from the hotel bathroom.

“Well, it worked out for you in the end, so what are you all upset about? You got what you want, and now I get what I want!”

It was only one voice. A phone call?

“Oh, really? Come on, now. I’m hurt. You can never just be happy for me, can you?”

Taker sat up, every muscle in his body reminding him it was vulnerably human. He ran a hand through his bedhead, feeling around for his clothes.

That was another problem with sleep, being half-awake. One second, he was sitting in bed wearing nothing but sheets, the next he was half-dressed and shambling into the bathroom. Mortal bodies truly lacked logic.

Shawn was leaning on the bathroom counter, engulfed in Taker’s shirt from the night before. One hand pressed a phone to his ear, the other twirled a lock of his hair around his finger. He noticed the Undertaker immediately, flashing him an award-winning smile and wink.

“All I’m saying is I think you value the gold more than you value our friendship,” Shawn’s tone and smile betrayed the wounded words he was spouting.

Taker wrapped an arm around Shawn’s waist. A wave of exhaustion struck him, and his head fell against Shawn’s shoulder with a sigh.

“Well fine, be that way, Mr. Attitude Problem.”

Was the phone call ever going to end?

Pressing his cheek against Shawn’s neck, Taker spoke up in hopes the man on the other line would hear him, “Where do you think you’re going, boy toy? I don’t remember saying you could leave the bed.” He kissed beneath Shawn’s ear, right near the phone, for good measure, “Tell Helmsley you’re busy.”

“Oh, am I?” He grinned crookedly, wiggling his hips in Taker’s grasp. “How long do you think I’ll be busy, twenty minutes? An hour?”

“Tell him to call back in two hours.”

“Hunter, the Undertaker says-- Okay! I just wanted to be sure, sheesh.” He snorted, shutting the phone, “Man, he is too easy.” Shifting to meet Taker’s eyes with his own concerned glance, he asked, “You were kidding about two hours, right?”

“Just come back to bed.”

“Oh, gee, I don’t know. I get so weak in the knees when you order me around, I don’t think I can walk there all on my own.”

Hint received, Taker lifted him bridal style, bringing him back to the bedroom. He laid him out gently on the bed, crawling over him, pressing lazy kisses on his face.

Shawn stroked his hair, hands moving to frame his face, brushing through his beard.

With a peck on the lips, he spoke up, “This is a good look for you.” When he got the slightest smile in response, he added, “That’s a good look, too. Didn’t even know you had one of those.”

“Hush.” There was no bite to Taker’s words as he nuzzled Shawn’s neck.

“Mm, and you’re warm,” Shawn’s arms tightened in a hug. “What’s the occasion?”

“Occasion…?”

“Y’know, the whole. Makeover.”

“Ditching the cult helped.”

Wait.

Hold on.

He didn’t want to say that. He didn’t want to talk about it. He kept his face buried in Shawn’s shoulder, hoping he hadn’t heard. Of all the people he didn’t want to get into __that __topic with, Shawn was high on the list. Their relationship was so simple. Talking about __that __would complicate matters. He didn’t need a heart to heart, and he didn’t want a heart to heart. He was content to be completely heartless, as far as Shawn was concerned. Heartless and cold fit, and it didn’t make him want to touch him any less. No reason to fix what wasn’t broken.

Then Shawn asked the worst question possible.

“Are you okay?”

“Fine.”

“You sure you didn’t say that, oh, I don’t know, because you want to talk about it?”

“Yes.”

Shawn nudged him with his shoulder, trying to get him to look up. It wasn’t going to happen. It was absolutely not.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t going to let it go.

“I’ll have you know that the Heartbreak Kid is not only a good lay, he’s also an excellent listener!” He said with an inappropriate flair of bravado.

“That’s a load of crap and you know it,” Taker sighed into Shawn’s shirt.

“Yeah, but I’m nosey. And,” he drew the word out, almost covering up the scoffing noise from Taker, “I do sort of __care __about you, you know.” In a softer tone, he added, “You were acting real weird last night, too.”

He was sincerely worried about the Undertaker.

Something throbbed in Taker’s chest.

“I don’t remember anything,” he confessed.

“Nothing at all?”

“Dirt. Fire. Austin and my brother. More dirt.” He shifted, tucking his head under Shawn’s chin, “Then…the desert.”

For once it seemed Shawn was at a loss for words. His fingers glided through Taker’s hair comfortingly.

“I’ve heard some…stories,” he admitted. “Nothing flattering. It’s better off that I don’t,” he trailed off.

He wasted months in the desert trying to dredge up and piece together the lost time. No matter his efforts, he couldn’t connect with the spirits of the dead as he used to. The power he once possessed had fallen dormant. It wasn’t until Kane showed up in a distraught, fatigued rage that he got any solid answers.

_ _“You took everything from me. Again.”_ _

Even with no recollection of what he did, the Undertaker knew his brother’s words were true.

_ _“Yeah. I did. I know.”_ _

Despite Kane being one of the last things Taker remembered before he went under, the big red machine could only fill in so many blanks for his brother. That was, of course, after begrudgingly accepting that the slightly less than dead man sincerely didn’t remember what he did. There would be no satisfaction in taking revenge on an innocent man. In the end, the Undertaker was all Kane had left in the world, and he had to find a way to accept that.

It was a hollow victory if it could be called a victory at all. It was an empty armistice between two forces who were the only ones capable of destroying or loving the other.

Notwithstanding the truce, the accusatory eyes of Kane haunted him.

The sympathetic touch of Shawn’s hand was too much. It was too gentle and too human. He didn’t deserve it. He pulled away. His breathing turned shallow, body tightening into stone.

“I don’t,” his words weren’t coming out right. “I fucked up. I really--”

Though he continued to talk, he could no longer hear himself. The sound of his own pulse hammering in his head was drowning everything else out. Tiny fingers clawed behind his eyes, sending a sting all through his face. Everything inside his chest was caving in. His hands shook, palms sweaty as they grasped at the sheets. No matter how hard he breathed, he couldn’t fill his lungs. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t move, and then it was over, and black rushed to cloud his vision.

_ _Guilt._ _

Oh, he knew that one. He knew it well. Guilt was a childhood friend that kept in touch as it grew. This time it was a moving picture of a man, no a boy, with defiant eyes and a fighting heart. His face was beaten bloody as he was thrown as bait. The unmoving body was a gauntlet, a rock with a note through a window. The boy didn’t matter, he was collateral damage to see if the screams from the fire sounded any different when they were twenty-five years old. 

_ _“Why?”_ _

_ _“I don’t know. I can’t remember.”_ _

Unsure how long he was out, he woke in the position he was in before the onslaught against his senses began, cradled against Shawn’s chest. Like a child, like something to be protected and pitied. He didn’t deserve protection and he didn’t want pity.

“What happened?” He tested his voice, relieved that it was in working order again.

“Uh,” Shawn failed to elaborate.

“Tell me.”

“I’m no doctor,” he spoke, uncharacteristically careful, “but I think you started feeling an emotion, panicked over it, and blacked out.”

Taker closed his eyes, his broken train of thought turning into a stream of profanities.

“...I swear if you’re laughing, if you’re so much as smiling when I look up--”

“I’m not. This is easily one of the most concerning things I’ve seen you do. And I saw you--” he stopped, thinking better of what he was going to say.

That was infuriating. Shawn never watched his mouth like that.

Taker whipped his head up, glaring, “Saw __what?”__

Shawn’s grimace had a touch of fear to it, as he hesitantly asked, “Do you remember what we were talking about before you, you know.” He sighed, “You said you’re better off not knowing, right? So, maybe I need to keep my mouth shut.”

“I think you better start talking,” the menace in his tone was unintentional but served its purpose.

Hands up defensively, Shawn replied hurriedly, “Okay, okay! But, just remember, you asked for it.” Breaking eye contact, nervously fiddling with his hair, he confessed, “We had an…encounter. When you were, let’s just say not your usual self.” He clicked his tongue, “Kind of. You were all glazed over and confused. Then you got sort of, I mean, you were kind of like,” recognition flashed in his eyes, “not too far off from where you’re at now.” Correctly interpreting the baffled narrowing of Taker’s eyes, he explained, “There ain’t no other way to explain it, you’re human. A genuine warm-blooded, living, breathing human. With a pulse!” With a fond smile, he added, “Always figured there was a human buried somewhere down there.”

That thing in his chest moved again, fluttering. It was jarring, but not unpleasant.

“You showed up at my house and called me a higher power.” He cut himself off, incredulous, “Are you gonna faint again?”

Clutching at his temples, Taker shook his head stubbornly. He was sick of being unconscious. The sensory memories, if they were memories, flooding his head and body threatened to knock him out anyway. Such a frail form.

He had been looking for a higher power. Paul assured him he would guide him to it, as he had always guided him throughout his career. All he had to do was trust him. Trust the urn. Don’t worry about what’s in that cup, just drink it.

According to everyone else, the higher power he found was from Vince. It was money. It was fame. It was power itself. That was Paul’s higher power, but--

The thought triggered the echoes of words from his own mouth that he was certain he never said.

_ _“The higher power, it’s you. It’s in you.”_ _

The corporate master that the Undertaker found in the money and the fame and the power was meaningless, and it left him feeling emptier than usual. Raindrops of lucidity woke something up in his brain as he realized the Ministry was only making the void in his heart deeper. Latent determination weakened the urn’s hold over him. The cage was unlocked, and he ran from it into an unfamiliar bedroom. A warm, naked body sprawled across the sheets, ethereal under the moonlight. The glowing exposed skin begged to be touched, tensing at the icy fingers that obliged it but not pulling away.

He didn’t know how he got there, but he wanted to stay. There was a heat in that room, in that body, in every soft sigh and murmured word, that became his religion. He needed it.

“...You could have this with anyone, you know.”

“I want it with you.”

“...”

“If anyone can find my heart, if I even have one, it's you. I understand now.”

“I think you’re givin’ me a lot of undue credit here.”

“No… No, I know your reputation.”

“Oh?”

“You’re a heartbreaker, aren’t you?”

“...”

“You’ll turn without a second thought.”

“Not the most flattering description of my stunning qualities.”

“No, that’s what I need. Flighty. Visceral.”

“We need to work on your sweet nothings.”

“Sorry.”

“Lotta pressure you’re putting on me here. Plenty of guys would hear this and immediately kick rocks.”

“Perfect. Do it.”

“Do it?”

“You already dug your nails in, you know. It’s been almost three years…”

“Three years…?”

“Since this all started. Us.”

“...”

“You said I have a heart.”

“You do.”

“You found it.”

“...I don’t know about that.”

“You found it. You can tear it to shreds. You can make me feel something.”

“I don’t--”

“Please.”

“You… You know, I’m a pretty contrary guy. Try and give me orders and I’ll damn well go against ‘em.”

“Then I win either way, don’t I?”

“...”

“If you break my heart, then at least I know I have one.”

“There’s gotta be another way.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Don’t you get it? You don’t have to.”

“...I don’t get it, actually.”

“You will someday.”

He found some kind of higher power in Shawn. It wasn’t the man himself, but something inside of him. The defiant nature, maybe. The thrill-seeking behavior. How easily he could love or hate. How freely he lived his life.

There was a higher power in the “I love you”s exchanged in the heat of the moment, only to be taken back the next morning. It was in the infatuation and disappointment. It was in anything that filled the void, whether it was love or pain. Anything.

“Things comin’ back to ya?” Shawn’s voice was soft, but still with his patented dry edge to it.

“Yeah…” He opened his eyes. “I don’t know how it happened, but I remember that night.”

“Do you remember after?”

“After?”

“The morning,” Shawn prompted.

Eyes narrowed, the Undertaker corrected him, “It was the afternoon.”

Delight flickered into Shawn’s eyes. It mattered to him that Taker remembered.

“It was the afternoon,” he repeated, reaching out to run his fingers through Shawn’s hair. “You were in the kitchen, singing…something. I can’t remember.” Frustration tinged his voice.

“Hell if I know either, I was just trying to act natural.”

“That’s where it stops.”

“That’s when the party crashers showed up,” Shawn informed him. “One moment it’s all sunshine and domesticity, and the next I’ve got Acolytes and Mideon and Viscera-- oh my! In my house. With the urn. Not how I envisioned our night ending.”

It was always the urn.

“They didn’t, or, I didn’t,” Taker bit his tongue, unsure why it was so hard to ask. “Did you get hurt?” He rushed the words out.

It was strange, caring about that. Stranger still was the knot in his stomach when Shawn looked down, keeping silent.

He shook his head, “I let ‘em take you. Or, I guess, let you go with them. You weren’t exactly resisting anymore.” Looking up with a thin smile, he added, “As scrappy and talented as I am, I know five-on-one odds ain’t in my favor.”

Taker didn’t know why he was holding his breath, but he felt his shoulders relax as he let the air breeze out of him.

“...Good.”

“Good?” Shawn echoed, putting a hand dramatically over his heart. “All that, and not even an apology for dragging me into this sordid drama?” The same way it had when on the phone with Helmsley, his excessive tone betrayed him.

“You love sordid. And you love drama.” With a little half-smile, he teasingly stroked under Shawn’s chin, voice sultry, “Get a high from danger, don’t you?”

“Mmhmm.” He leaned in, bracing himself on the Undertaker’s thighs, purring, “You know me, I got a thing for bad boys.”

He stroked down Taker’s chest, warmth radiating from his hand as it stopped to rest over his heart. Their lips brushed together in the lightest kiss.

Shawn let the sanctity of the silent moment sit for a while, but the gears were turning in those long-lashed eyes. All the Undertaker could do was wait for him to come out and say it. He never knew Shawn to be so cautious and choosy with his words.

Finally, he spoke, voice uppity as ever, but with a touch of sincerity, “Gonna be honest with you, up until last night? Kinda thought you hated me.”

Hate?

The chair shots and costing him the title and shoving him in a body bag and more chair shots and ganging up on him with DX certainly hadn’t endeared Shawn to the Undertaker. It was easy to see where one might get the idea. Still, Shawn thinking that left a bad taste in Taker’s mouth.

“I don’t hate you,” he asserted. “Don’t think I ever have.”

“Aw, that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me when I’m not naked.”

“Shawn.”

“Yeah, you’re not so nice to me when I’m naked either.”

_ _“Shawn.”_ _

Shawn refused to yield, “But, hey, you know me, I’m into it! I kinda liked it last night when you called me a--”

Taker forcefully pressed two fingers against Shawn’s lips, effectively silencing him. “Can you be serious?”

Smirking against Taker’s hand, Shawn shook his head. Honestly, why didn’t he hate him?

The smirk eased into a tender smile. Feeling everything inside of him go all warm and pliant at the expression, Taker lowered his hand. He immediately learned not to trust his emotional reflexes.

“I wouldn’t blame you. Besides, it’s not like you’d be the first man who hates my guts, and yet finds it impossible to resist,” he dramatically flipped his hair, with a little shimmy of his shoulders, “all this. I’m a tempter, I know.”

Taker rolled his eyes, shaking his head, “Sue me, Michaels, I got a soft spot for you.”

“Oof, now there’s a mistake,” he sympathetically patted Taker’s shoulder. “Mortal Human 101, deadman, ya don’t go admitting to having feelings for the Heartbreak Kid.” He threw his hands up helplessly, “Now I gotta go start all kinds of rumors about how the Undertaker, the phenom, the man from the dark side, has the hots for me! That’s gonna take a lot of work. I’m gonna have to clear my whole schedule. Are you happy now?”

“No one will ever believe you.”

“Try me! I’ll call Hunter back right now. I’ll tell him all about your little crush. You can’t stop me!”

Authentically uncertain if Shawn was bluffing or joking, the Undertaker gently pushed him down, pinning him to the mattress.

“I got no problem smothering you with a pillow.”

“Smother me all ya want, that ain’t gonna change the fact that you have a thing for me.”

That smarmy grin was completely intolerable. Impulsively, Taker kissed it. The dazed, lulled look Shawn gave him when they parted for air wasn’t bad at all. The knowledge that he could easily make the legendary Heartbreak Kid go all starry-eyed and weak in the knees gave him what he assumed was the same satisfaction Shawn got out of taunting him.

“Kissing me to shut me up,” he was out of breath, but still trying to quip, “definitely doesn’t change that you have a thing for me.”

“No, but it does shut you up, doesn’t it?” Taker closed in for another kiss.

“Mm, come on,” Shawn complained in between kisses. “This is-- it’s cheating-- you’re--” he slid his arms up Taker’s back to rest at his shoulders, momentarily tamed.

Feeling Shawn relax in his arms, Taker gently released him and watched the placated look on Shawn’s face turn to annoyance.

“This is exactly what I’m talking about. You act like you don’t like me, then you’re all shocked when I think you hate me.”

“How am I acting like I don’t like you?” Taker asked, mystified.

“You just threatened to smother me!”

“You were acting like a jackass to get a rise out of me, and now you’re mad that you got one?”

Shawn opened his mouth to retort, then thought it over. “Okay, bad example. But you know I’m not wrong!”

Taker sighed, letting his head fall to rest on Shawn’s chest. He wasn’t wrong. Taker knew that.

Not finished, but significantly pacified, Shawn added, “I can never tell with you. I don’t know what you’re thinking or feeling, like, ever.”

That made two of them. Taker was still struggling to grasp the baggage of feelings he recently unlocked. Before, all of his emotions felt muted, like the were behind glass. He knew they were there, but he couldn’t tap into them. Something was in the way. With that barrier lifted, they were finally hitting him, and they were hitting him __hard.__

Being in touch with his human side was primarily unpleasant, but not completely useless. Not if he could pinpoint how he felt about Shawn. With that moment of heavy silence between them, he began processing.

He loved how easy it was to be with Shawn. The Undertaker was a very private person, and the handful of men he had flings with in the past never bothered to get personal. He very intentionally chose men who he knew wouldn’t give a damn. Shawn was a little different. He never pushed any boundaries that Taker didn’t want pushed, but not for lack of caring. It was a healthy respect, allowing Taker to keep him at arm’s length until he felt like shortening that distance. He waited, knowing the man would come around whenever he wanted to if he ever wanted to. He was content with that. Abrasive behavior notwithstanding, he did care about the Undertaker, he admitted that much.

He loved Shawn’s unparalleled boldness. Even though that flippant, devil-may-care attitude had been used for his personal and professional detriment, he couldn’t help but be attracted to it. It spoke to how much heart Shawn had, even if that heart wasn’t always in the right place.

He loved the way their bodies fit together in perfect chemistry. In the heat of the moment, he could always feel Shawn’s heart beating faster and his breath quickening. Taker didn’t know how any better way to describe him than being so beautifully, contagiously alive. Whether it was in the sheets or in the ring, he was stunningly animated. The way he moved and talked pulled people in and the Undertaker was no exception to that. He was a firebrand, a walking spectacle.

Taker wanted Shawn to know how he felt about him, but there was one thing, one variable he had to know for certain before he told him, and he didn’t know it.

Did he love Shawn?

Instead, Taker lifted his head, and replied with unpracticed emotional honesty, “I’m sorry.” Stilted as he felt, he pushed on, “I’ll work on it.”

There was a touch of melancholy to Shawn’s smile as he said, “If you want this to work, you gotta let me in.”

“I know.”

“So do you?”

“...Yeah.”

“I think…I do, too.”

Shifting to lean on his elbow, leaving his other arm draped over Shawn’s waist, Taker repeated, “You think?”

Shawn bumped him with his shoulder, “You gotta give me time, too, deadman. I thought it was over, me and you. Last time I saw you, you were having some internal struggle on whether you wanted to strangle me or not.”

“If you weren’t sure on that one either, I don’t want to strangle you.”

“Oh, yeah, I knew that one.” Then he smiled, “You said you had a soft spot for me then, too.” Unable to stay serious for too long, he did those annoying little spooky hand gestures, “Sounds like even being possessed by an urn demon, ya just can’t resist these charms. Those rumors are gonna start themselves.”

“I ain’t about to strangle or smother you, but I might send you on a walk of shame.”

“In your shirt? Damning evidence,” he clicked his tongue.

“Maybe,” he admitted. “But I know for damn certain I can get your clothes off faster than you can get to the door.”

“Is that a challenge?”

“Try me.”

“You’re just trying to get me naked again.” Shawn stretched his arms with a yawn, “I ain’t fallin’ for that one, no sir, these clothes are staying __on.”__

“You’re impossible,” Taker sighed.

Pulling Shawn in by the waist, he rested his head on his shoulder and shut his eyes. In his loose grip, Shawn turned over to face him. Then his hands were in his hair, brushing it back from his face, stroking it tenderly. Taker felt a pleasant warmth growing inside him with every gentle touch. Drifting off in the peace and comfort of the moment, the Undertaker decided all those new, messy human quirks he was discovering weren’t so bad after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all I warned you about projecting my BPD symptoms.
> 
> Anyway if you read this all the way through THANK YOU! I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it~


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